


deserved

by bogfenwetland



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogfenwetland/pseuds/bogfenwetland
Summary: yasha feels good when she feels bad
Kudos: 11





	deserved

Yasha has been feeling dead. There is not much else to say to flavor this fact. She has been feeling dead since she was freed from the binding control of Obann and the cult of the Angel of Irons. She thinks, in the very abstract way that she can only think about how she thinks about it as opposed to actually thinking about  _ it _ , that it’s something of a defense mechanism. To avoid the pain of the pure self-hatred that arises from her actions, the senseless murders she has committed and the destruction she had left behind. Pain that, while deserved, is too much to process. So, instead, Yasha feels dead. It’s just easier this way.

There did not yet exist exceptions to this feeling. When Caduceus offered her tea and a performance on his new flute, Yasha drank what was placed in front of her and listened mindlessly to the horrific sounds he produced. When Caleb joined her in the garden to read, she was unable to pay him any mind. Beau and Fjord’s training and the antics of Nott and Jester were not stirring in the least. Yasha knows, somewhere in the part of her consciousness that feels as though it is watching her from the outside, that this is not helping. She has already distanced herself so much from these people, her _ friends _ , in the time that has passed. Her lack of engagement only pushes herself further away from them. But what is she supposed to do? To look Beauregard in the eyes after almost striking her dead, to engage in pranks and tricks with everybody in their precious downtime, it feels false. It could not be fair for Yasha to return to the group after all this time of being absent and actively harming them. She feels she is doing what is best. 

And then the idea of a fighting pit is brought up by Fjord, and Yasha feels her heart rate spike. She has been trying to punish herself with distance as much as she is able to for her crimes and yet she still feels endless guilt. Perhaps if she was punished at the hands of another, a request she knows that none of her compatriots would grant her, she will finally feel… better. So Yasha helms the search for the pit with Fjord and asks for the worst punishment possible. While she knows of her strength, she knows as well that there is not a way that she could win against any sort of champion in a bare knuckle brawl. It is her blade, not her fists, that has caused such irreversible damage. Just the thought of it is enough to spark life into her head. 

That feeling she feels when she lays her eyes on the champion of the pit is unlike any she has felt in the past few months. She feels freedom in the hands of this dwarven woman and the idea of being torn down by her, of being put in her place by a person of merit over Yasha’s pathetic self. And when the fight begins, Yasha is at peace.

She is quick to anger, this champion. Yasha lets her strike first. It feels shockingly empty. She needs more, fast. Yasha offers two slaps upon the champion, attempting to goad her to fight hard. The dwarven woman takes the bait, continuing her barrage. Yasha begins to lose sight of things amongst the endless stream of attacks. It starts to have meaning, to feel good. Each hit that the champion lands against Yasha seems to uncoil a knot of tension within her chest, inching her closer and closer to a release of guilt that she has been longing for all this time. It’s cathartic and powerful in a way that Yasha wasn’t quite prepared for as she continues to egg her foe on. Yasha is slinging insults and threats and forcing the champion to double down on her, beating her into submission incrementally. 

Yasha feels the blood and sweat seeping into her eyes, forcing them open to feel the burn. Her wounds sting and she feels dizzy and weak and so, so good. Her weakness is a power to her now, coming from one who was so strong against her own will. Now, she chooses to be weak. She chooses not to become angry, not to fight back. To pull her punches and take the hits, not making an effort to defend herself. Each punch feels like the blow of an executioner’s blade, deserved and just. She relives each memory she can bring to mind, countless images of people dead by her hand, fear in the eyes of her friends as they look at her, all these thoughts swelling in her mind with each strike, the pain acting as a solvent to clear away her guilt. She feels herself beginning to grow faint, either with weariness of emotion or sheer damage taken she does not know. She looks into the eyes of her punisher as she nears the climax of her fight, a grin spreading across her face. Yasha watches the last hit approach her, spreading her arms and allowing herself to fall. She knows that this is temporary, this release. But in that moment, as her energy is entirely drained, she has been beaten into the dust like the dog she is. In the fleeting seconds before her unconsciousness, Yasha feels life course through her veins once more.


End file.
